


they call us the diamond dogs

by questionsthemselves



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Aleta is made of glee and murder, Dirty Talk, M/M, Multi, OG Ravagers and their ridiculous shenanigans, OT3, Threesome - M/M/M, longsuffering Stakar is longsuffering, why have a love triangle when you can have an ot3 instead?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-03 15:17:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12750903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsthemselves/pseuds/questionsthemselves
Summary: “Well, look it what we have here Marty,” the blue man is grinning at him, saunters up ignoring the arrow still spinning an inch from Kraglin’s eyeball. “Think someone’s trying t’make off with our rightfully stolen goods.”The crystal-skinned man, who must be the Marty he was talking to, crosses his arms, slouches back and drawls out, “Aw, that’s no way to introduce yourself.”Kraglin doesn’t dare move, not with threat of death by magic arrow, but his eyes are darting around, trying to figure out if there’s someway he can cause a distraction, extract himself from this whole cocked up mess of a situation.“Yeah, ‘s not friendly start t’a relationship.”Or Kraglin and Martinex and Yondu get into shenanigans and also get together





	1. and they hide behind trees

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all the awesome people who cheered this on, it gave me the motivation to drag it out of my inactive wips folder. Especial love to AbominableSnowDude for championing the Yondex ship with me, and also for dragging me into it in the first place and EVEN MORE THAN THAT feeding the OT3 tribbles that became this ALL YOUR FAULT <3 <3 <3 xxxx
> 
> Also fic no 30 whoop whoop \o/

Kraglin hates Thursdays. 

Not that he’s hunky dory with the rest of the days of the week. But there’s something particularly grudging about Thursdays that somehow always ends up with Kraglin nose-deep in a boiling pot of trouble

Take this one. He’d started at as he normally did of a day, casually perusing the Arapan dockyard for any ship that looked like it might make a particularly cushy target. There wasn’t much – a few sagger freighters, a tour ship that had seen it’s best days fifty years ago, and a few scattered M-ships. 

Kraglin dismisses the freighter immediately - probably filled with the local grocery supply of processed protein packs – cheap, easy, and didn’t mess the digestive system of your average spacer too badly. _Ugh._ What Kraglin wouldn’t give for something hot, like plomeek soup in all its spicy-tangy faintly irradiated goodness. Freighter’ll be his last resort - he’ll take a few bars to fill his belly, but but it’s not like he could rake in enough selling the packs to make it worth taking more.

The tour ship was equally a no-go. Not that there wouldn’t be a handful of cheap shinies to be found, maybe a few overloaded credit chips he could cash quickly. But unfortunately, even if the security wasn’t great, it was there, and the last thing Kraglin felt like doing was scampering along the rooftops away from some two-bit thug with more rage than brains. 

Especially after yesterday - he’d chosen the wrong target for a snatch and grab, some green-clad jackass who unfortunately wised up immediately and had sicced her gang of similarly green-clad thugs on him with a grin that was full of altogether too much evil satisfaction. It’d taken almost a panicked half hour before Kraglin had finally managed to lose them. He’d had to weasel and vault his way over buildings and through sewer tunnels and his bruised and scraped limbs weren’t thanking him for it today. 

So it looks like his choices are whittled down to the M-ships. Problem is though, they were always a crapshoot, sometimes hitting a jewel mine, more often battered junk heap. 

He sulks around the morning, procrastinating. If only he had anything left squirreled away –but he hadn’t gotten anything but trash scraps the day before and his aching stomach and trembling muscles wouldn't thank him for another cycle without a halfway decent meal. That decided, he’ll start with combing the first one and work his way through, nice and neat. 

 

Except that’s not exactly how it goes.

 

“Well, look it what we have here Marty,” the blue man is grinning at him, saunters up ignoring the arrow still spinning an inch from Kraglin’s eyeball. “Think someone’s trying t’make off with our rightfully stolen goods.” 

The crystal-skinned man, who must be the Marty he was talking to, crosses his arms, slouches back and drawls out, “Aw, that’s no way to introduce yourself.” 

Kraglin doesn’t dare move, not with threat of death by magic arrow, but his eyes are darting around, trying to figure out if there’s someway he can cause a distraction, extract himself from this whole cocked up mess of a situation. 

“Yeah, ‘s not friendly start t’a relationship.”

By this point Yondu’s almost rather.. too close, close enough Kraglin can feel the heat coming off of him and he blinks and the arrow isn’t there anymore, Yondu’s sticking it back in his holster and suddenly he can feel the pressure of someone at his back, as cool as the man in front of him is hot, and Kraglin’s flushing bright blue and he swallows, fidgeting his hands at his hands as he tries not to move. Marty hooks his head over Kraglin’s shoulder, just tall enough to manage it and Kraglin nearly jumps in surprise. Yondu reaches out, grabs Kraglin’s belt loops to hold his skinny hips in place. 

“Aw, he doesn’t look please t’meet us,” he pouts at Martinex, an expression that look entirely out of place. Martinex shivers a laugh against Kraglin’s back. 

“Maybe he just took one look at your face an’ decided he needed to go rob someone prettier.” 

Yondu bats his eyelashes. “Don’t front darling, you love my face.” 

“Stars help me,” Martinex says, but his tone softens fondly.

Kraglin shifts, tries to back away because the only thing that’s gonna make this situation worse is if the stranger in front of him feels the… growing inappropriate problem starting to nudge at the front of his trousers. But really, who could blame him when he has two men all grinning like the best kind of danger, boxing him in like he’s some kind of tasty sandwich filling? 

And okay, _maybe_ he has the smallest tiniest bit of a thing for people who could kill him without having to breath hard. Just a wee thing. Unfortunately it’s his brain start musing on all sorts of inappropriate thoughts about the men he’s supposed to be robbing or running away from right now. 

Better figured out a way to get them focused on something else before either notices. 

“You gonna do something, or are you gonna make me stand here while you keep flirting with each other?” 

Almost as soon as he says it he wishes he could shove the words back in his mouth, face blushing blue and hot as a mid-summer sky. He hutches in a little on himself, waits tensely. 

There’s a moment of surprised silence, and then just behind his head Kraglin hears a startled snigger. 

“Ooo, someone’s got a set of stones on him, calling you out like that,” Martinex sounds entirely too gleeful and a shiny arm is reaching around his side to poke Yondu in the chest, laughs as he bats it away sulkily. 

“Ain’t my fault you’re always making those moony eyes at me, can’t help m’self,” Yondu rolls his eyes, “‘sides you’re senior, seems like you should be the one figuring out what to do here.”

Kraglin blinks, bemused. He’d half expected that comment to get him a swift knife to the gut, and as his skin is as intact as it was a minute ago, he starts to ease his weight in the general direction of the door.

He’s frozen in his tracks though as two pairs of eyes snap to him. 

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Yondu drawls. 

“Yondu…” Martinex’s tone is weak and unconvincing but before Kraglin can figure out what they mean he’s unceremoniously clonked on the head and the world drops to black. 

 

Kraglin wakes up to a strange craggy, scowling face a foot in front of his, something white-hot sparking vaguely at the back of the man’s eyes. He resists the urge to let out a manly shriek as he jerks backwards, hands scrambling at the arms of the chairs he’s been draped over. 

“You’re goddamn terrors, the both of you,” the man says grumpily as he pulls himself back upright. He’s glaring at Yondu and Martinex, the latter looking mildly abashed while Yondu continues looking completely unrepentant. 

“He tried to loot our ship Cap’n!” Yondu spreads his hands in affronted innocence. “We couldn’t just let him get away with it.” 

“So you decided you needed to _shanghai_ him instead?” the captain of whatever the fuck these two are part of, clearly isn’t having it. “You know we don’t take on unwilling crew, put him back where he came from _or so help me–“_

“Um,” Kraglin swallows, tries to ignore the headache pulsing at the back of his head. Three pairs of eyes focus on him, and he starts to wish he’d kept his mouth shut. Since he’s started though… “where, exactly, am I?” 

The captain takes a fortifying inhale and then says measuredly, “You’re currently on a ship docked in the Ravager ship _Starhawk,_ and I’m Admiral Stakar Ogord.”

Shit. 

Shit shit shit, the man in front of his is a flutarkin _’ Admiral_? Of the goddamn _Ravagers_? Oh hells no, Kraglin needs to be absolutely anywhere else, right this fucking second.

“I’m only a kid, just got lost, I’ll be outta your business so fast sir, didn’t mean no harm” he starts gabbling, hoping really hard that maybe this Admiral has no clue what his species looks like as they age and if he just makes his eyes wide enough and his voice high enough they might buy that’s he’s a few years on the back side of twenty instead of just about to tip over it. 

“Uh huh,” from Stakar’s skeptical expression, he isn’t buying it. “Grow facial hair real young, your species.” 

Oops. Busted. Kragin’s _knew_ he’d forgotten something that morning. Kraglin’s about to try and switch tactics, because he’s not just gonna give up and die that easy, when the man scrubs a palm across his face and sighs. 

“Look, son, whatever you done, Ravagers don’t deal in slaves, which is what you would be if you took ya on without your say so,” he glares at the now twin expressions of shame on Martinex and Yondu’s faces, “Ravagers gotta Code, and only dealing with free men’s part of that.” 

Huh. That… wasn’t exactly what Kraglin had been expecting. Most of the bosses on Arapo were the shoot first ask questions never type. If he’d had a run in with one of them like this, he’d already been fertilizing the rubbish weeds behind some oversized heaving trash compactor. 

Not that he doubted this man could crush him like jitterbug, with his aura of threat and his leathers ominously devoid of weapons. Ravagers were legendary here, as they probably were most parts, and this man had the strength to captain them all. 

But vicious space pirates with some kind of moral code, however loose? A gang that’d have your back, but not leave you standing at the wash bin every night scrubbing your hands raw to scrub off the guilt and blood? 

Before he can lose his nerve Kragin blurts out, “What if it was with my say so?” 

“Pardon?” Stakar face goes blank, and Kraglin says again a little higher and shakier, “What if I wanted t’be a Ravager?” 

 

When to Kraglin’s baffled tentative happiness Stakar agrees, Yondu silently holds his fist up, smirks at Martinex. Martinex only rolls his eyes in beleaguerment, and lifts a fist to gives Yondu’s a long-suffering bump.


	2. hunt you to the ground they will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kraglin thanks the stars that he’s good at adapting, good at blending into the background like a gawky, spiky shadow. Means he’s able to slip into life on a Ravager ship with relatively few bumps along the way, at least of the ‘changing their minds and throwing him back where they got him’ variety.
> 
> Every day on board – learning how to read like he’s some kind of high-blood or something, drawing lines across the dazzling arrays of star charts, having as much food as wants, whenever he wants – it makes him more determined that he’s never going to leave.
> 
> The only unsettling part to this new life of his, is the way that no matter where he goes, Martinex and Yondu seem to somehow always end up there too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm, hmmm, too tired to edit tonight, so it'll get a once over in the morning.

Kraglin thanks the stars that he’s good at adapting, good at blending into the background like a gawky, spiky shadow. Means he’s able to slip into life on a Ravager ship with relatively few bumps along the way, at least of the ‘changing their minds and throwing him back where they got him’ variety.

Every day on board – learning how to read like he’s some kind of high-blood or something, drawing lines across the dazzling arrays of star charts, having as much food as wants, whenever he wants – it makes him more determined that he’s never going to leave.

The only unsettling part to this new life of his, is the way that no matter where he goes, Martinex and Yondu seem to somehow always end up there too. 

 

"Whatcha eatin', Obfonteri?" Yondu's voice startles Kraglin from where he’s been shoving down a bowl of some soup that while it wasn't quite as good as plomeek, was rapidly becoming a close second. 

Kraglin garbles out something nonsensical from around his mouthful of food. 

"Slow down, you're fine," Martinex's good natured drawl sounds from over his other shoulder, "just stopping t’see how you were settling in."

"Yup," Yondu plops backwards next to Kraglin on the bench, gives his knee a friendly squeeze and grins. "After all, we feel sort of responsible an' all."

Kraglin's still completely and utterly baffled by these two. After all he'd tried to _rob_ them. And yet they were always acting like they were all in on the grandest of jokes? 

Martinex settles himself in rather a more dignified fashion on Kraglin's other side, and Kraglin has the distinct feeling of deja vu. What is it with these two and sandwiching him in? He shakes his head, tries to focus.

"What, mean 'cause you knocked me out and kidnapped me?" 

“Exactly!" Yondu says, giving him a cheerful slap on the back, "Don't need ya trying to run away again on us now."

Kraglin rolls his eyes. 

"You keep leaning in that close, he’s gonna wanna run just t’get away from that huffer-stink breath of yours,” Marty props his head up on his folded hands. The way the light glints off the curve of his lightly muscled arms is mesmerizing. Kraglin swallows dryly. 

“Didn’t hear you complaining ‘bout my breath earlier,” Yondu’s eyes hood in an instant, face melting in a smirk that makes him like like he’s halfway to throwing Marty down on the table right there. He leans in and Kraglin almost stops breathing as he feels the heat of Yondu on his side, skin and leather and smirk a few inches from his face. 

Martinex sighs, an exaggerated long-suffering sort of one Kraglin suspects people often make around Yondu. 

“Stop flirting in front of the newbie, darling,” he tilts his head, “we’re supposed to be checking up on him after all.” 

“Yeah yeah,” Yondu reaches over Kraglin to poke Martinex’s face, “ain’t like it’s the first time.” The look he gives Kraglin is entirely too mischievous, and it makes Kraglin want to _do things._

Better leave before he starts making this awkward. Scooping up his mostly finished bowl of soup, he clambers awkwardly off the bench with a mutter _better get t’work now_ , ignoring the twin looks of surprise that follow him out. 

  

It's impossible to avoid running into them, on a ship the size of the _Starhawk_.  Ravagers may not be much for feelings, but they're clearly thick as thieves and Kraglin’s happy for them, he _is._ It's bittersweet longing, watching them flirt though, and they’re almost as publicly affectionate as Captain Stakar seems to be with his wife Aleta.

And hadn't that been a fun time, figuring out his co-captain was the green-clad jackass that he'd tried to rob. 

He'd been going about his innocent business on the bridge one day, pulling up the nav inputs to compare to the information on his datapad. Kraglin loved the way the numbers and shapes convelesced together, charting their ship a path through the starways. Then a small hand had pinched firmly on his shoulder, and dragged him around. 

"What in the stars damned hell are you doing here, you little pickthief?" 

Kraglin probably had a good half a foot on this chaotic bundle of wild black hair and knife-sharp eyes, but right now he wanted nothing more then to melt into the control console. If she'd been terrifying whirling on him in the market with a sadistic smirk, she was even more terrifying pushing up on her toes a few micrometers from the end of his beaky nose. 

"Um," Kraglin said weakly, trying to decide what exactly would be the best tactic here so he comes out the end of this with most of his skin intact, when he heard Yondu drawl, "Aw, Captain, what'd he ever do t'you? Scaring him all white like that. He barely had any color as it was."

"This twiggy brat," Aleta said in voice that was so derangedly cheerful that all the hairs went up on Kraglin’s arms, "tried to pickpocket me when we was down on Arapo the other day. Sicced Leta and Hrani on him, was fucking hilarious." 

"Um," said Kraglin again. He swallowed dryly, shifted a little from foot to foot. "Sorry?" 

"Aw see, he's sorry," Yondu said brightly, "'sides it's not like you're the only one, he tried to rob me and Marty too!'

Aleta flicked her eyes between Kraglin and Yondu, bright and beady as a novahawk. 

Kraglin wanted to die. 

"Leave the poor boy alone, Aleta," Stakar looks up from where he's dutifully tapping away with one finger at his datapad. "He's a Ravager now, took the Oath and everything. And Ravagers don't steal from each other,” he turns narrow eyes on Kraglin. “Right Obfonteri?" 

"Nossir!' Kraglin squeaks and determinedly focuses back on the nav board, trying to will down the blue flushing his cheeks and ignore the weight of the stares on his back. 

 

There’s a surprisingly few number of crew, for the ship of an Admiral, maybe only a couple hundred-odd. Means everyone knows absolutely everyone, and Kraglin eventually finds a few others that work his shift that he wouldn’t turn down having a drink with sometime. 

Others though… they make look a good game, but when they don’t notice him there he hears the grumblings. 

 

“You see the Admiral’s little pet today?” it’s some dissatisfied hunk of an Autocron, sprawling himself over most of the rec room couch until his weedy Andorian of a friend has to scoot over. “He practically gets away with murder, ’s not right.” 

His friend is altogether too eager to chime in with answering sentiment. 

“Yeah!” he wiggles a little on the cushion, “He back chatted him in front of a _client_ and all Cap’n did was ignore him.”

“Be good if someone took him down a peg or too, taught him he can’t weasel his way outta everything with his charm.” 

Fuck. Kraglin stops the scroll of his fingers on the book he’d been painfully making his way through on his holopad. That sounded… ominous, a thin wire of threat woven through the otherwise blustering words. 

“You know he spars right? Bet I could slip him a knife or two, play it off as an accident.”

"You wouldn’t,” his friend’s laugh is uncertain. 

“Not saying I’m gonna, just saying it would be easy,” the Autocron’s face looks placid, but his eyes… “No one would blame me, prolly even thank me for showing him he ain’t invincible.”

When his friend’s eyes go all big an uncertain, he laughs back. “Get over it, ’s just a joke, fucker.”

Somehow, Kraglin doesn’t quite think it is.  

 

One hand is fluttering out a jittering rhythm against Kraglin’s leg as he walks, bowl held in the other. He stares straight ahead as he plunks himself down next to Yondu. 

“I heard something,” he says quiet, mechanically stirring his soup, “If someone asks t’spar you today, watch your back.”

Yondu got an eyebrow lifted still in surprise. Kraglin doesn’t blame him. After all, it’s the first time he’s searched him out like this. Hearing his words though, Yondu scoffs.

“Please, ain’t taking me down.” 

“Aint’ saying anything ‘bout your skills,” Kraglin stirs a little harder, “just saying it would be mighty unfair if someone was to come at your back with something a little pointier than just a fist.”

Yondu’s eyes are narrow, scrutinizing. Whatever he sees in Kraglin’s face must convince him because he says casually, “Would be rather unsporting.” 

 

Turns out Kraglin was right. The Autocron does challenge Yondu to a match during after hours, Kraglin looking on tensely from the sidelines. Yondu’s good though, almost scarily good. When the glint of metal hits his eyes even as Kraglin opens his mouth to yell, Yondu’s twisting away, bringing a hammer fist down hard right on the sensitive pressure points in the man’s forearms, making him drop the knife. 

There’s a swell of noise as Martinex pushes off the gym wall he’d been lounging on while ogling his boyfriendwith a growl, hands forming into glinting fists. The energy’s rising in the room, tensions starting to flood in. Kraglin eels his way out the door and back to his favorite spot in the rec room before he can be caught up in in, content in the knowledge Yondu’s safe. 

 

Kraglin's got a arm flopped over his face as he lays on the couch, letting the adreneline slowly trickle back out of his veins. Yondu is fine, and Martinex is fine, and the backstabber's gonna get what’s coming to him. 

There's the sound of the rec room doors swooshing open, and then Kraglin hears Martinex's voice, low and serious. 

"Thank you." 

Oh. Yondu must have told him what he said earlier. Kraglin slides his arm off his face, and pushes himself up off the couch to standing. 

"Don't gotta thank me," he mutters, twisting his hands behind his back. "You coulda killed me that day, or beat me up good and left me in a heap on the docking bay to get picked apart by gangers. Only right" 

"Still," Martinex is moving closer and Kraglin shuffles back nervously until his back hits the wall, and he doesn't have anywhere else to go. "You coulda kept your head down, stayed out of it. So thank you."

Kraglin garbles out a some sort of denial but being pinned against the wall like this, Martinex's eyes and every lanky glittery inch of him less than a foot away, is doing things to him. 

He yells silently as his traitorous body, locks all his muscles tight. 

"You're doing pretty good too on the nav, even Stakar said something about it," Martinex is watching him like he's looking for something, and Kraglin can feel his chest go all wobbly and warm at the praise, can feel his damn cheeks going blue. He's gonna develop more of a poker face if it's the last thing he does, dammit. “Doing real well. Yondu told me you would, said he had a feeling ‘bout you. Told him maybe the thought wasn’t coming from the head he thought it was.” 

“Mm-mm?" Kraglin ekes out, and Martinex grins sharp, slouches against the wall and crosses his arms. 

“Y’know,” he drawl all casual, “I seen you looking at Yondu, eying him up.”


	3. oh baby, come unto me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kraglin blushes even brighter, he can feel his cheeks warming with it.  
> “I–I, I weren’t looking,” he stammers out, trying to resist the urge to tuck his hands behind him like a guilty child. “Swear, I know you ’n he – are – y’know.”  
> Marty though, doesn’t actually seem angry at all. He’s slouching, arms still crossed and he may be boxing Kraglin into the corner but he doesn’t actually seem that… upset.

 

_I seen you looking at Yondu, eying him up_

Kraglin blushes even brighter, he can feel his cheeks warming with it. 

“I–I, I weren’t looking,” he stammers out, trying to resist the urge to tuck his hands behind him like a guilty child. “Swear, I know you ’n he – are – y’know.” 

Marty though, doesn’t actually seem angry at all. He’s slouching, arms still crossed and he may be boxing Kraglin into the corner but he doesn’t actually seem that… upset. 

“Yondu and me…” Marty prompts, corners of his lips turned up in a smirk. When Kraglin just opens and closes his mouth helplessly a few times, Marty tilts his head, leans in just a bit and says, “Yondu and I are _fucking_ , you mean.” 

If Kraglin hadn’t been blue enough before, he is now. His blood can’t seem to decide whether to relocate itself to his cheeks or his crotch, but either way it’s far from his knees so he gives a precarious little wobble forward as his legs go shaky under him. 

Martinex reaches an arm out to steady him, hook him in close so they’re pressed nearly flush. Kraglin may have a couple inches on Marty, but he feels as awkward and gangly as a colt, doesn’t know where to put his arms so he freezes. 

“You know, you haven’t been the only one looking,” Marty purrs out. His voice is low, gravely, and confident and it makes something in Kraglin go quivery. “Yondu’s been looking back,” Marty reaches up with the other hand that’s not around Kraglin’s waist to palm the back of his scalp, “an’ I have too.” 

Then he’s bringing his lips to Kraglin’s, and Kraglin shudders with shock, thinking stupidly that Marty’s lips are softer than he thought they’d be. Marty’s hand is firm and cool against his overheated skin, tilting him assertively to fit them together. His other hand slides down Kraglin’s hip, palms his backside gently, pulling him forward into Marty and Kraglin moans, lips parting and then Marty’s fingers are pressing in firmer, holding him still so he can fuck his tongue into Kraglin. 

“Aw, ain’t that a pretty picture,” Yondu’s amused drawl breaks Kraglin out of the haze that’d been settling over him, and he tries to jump backwards. Marty doesn’t let go though, holds his hips firm and gives a possessive grope. 

“Just waiting for you,” Marty rasps back and then Yondu’s sauntering closer, and Marty spins Kraglin out still keeping a hand on his hip and his neck as Yondu slides his hands up Kraglin’s chest to the bony knobs of his shoulders, pushes up on his toes to kiss him too. 

He tastes like cheap liquor and bad breath, and he’s demanding, pushing into Kraglin and licking at his lips until Kraglin opens them, lets him in. He kneads at Kraglin’s shoulders like he’s staking a claim and Kraglin’s head is spinning, light and woozy as he tries to pull himself back together. It’s still not quite processing that the person he’s been lusting after is here, kissing him, and his lover is at Kraglin’s back encouraging it. 

Like he’s been summoned by the thought, Kraglin feels the cold lips dragging slowly up the side of his neck and Marty’s voice is husking, “He’s good with his mouth, isn’t he, he’s wanted to do this to you for a while.” 

Then Marty’s nipping with diamond sharp teeth right on the place where neck meets shoulder as he adds, “You’re being so good, letting him have what he wants.” 

Kraglin goes abruptly shocky and weak at those words, breaking the kiss as his head drops forward helplessly. Yondu smirks, says, “Think we should take this somewhere more private,” and he then pushes up enough he can croon into Kraglin’s ear, “Been waiting fer this, want t’hold you down, feel you in me.” 

 

Martinex is senior crew, which mean is cabin may not be huge but it’s private. They’re barely in the room before Yondu’s grabbing a handful of his shirt with a filthy grin, and pushing him back until his knees hit the bed, then his back. Yondu settles himself on top of Kraglin, knees bracketing his skinny hips, rolling against him in slow, grinding pulses. 

“Yeah, thassit,” Yondu braces himself above Kraglin as Kraglin clutches at Yondu’s sides. “You getting all hard for me, darling? Your cock’s gonna feel so good inside me, spreading me wide and fucking me hard.” 

Kraglin hands are trembling and he almost can’t breath with how much he wants. Fingers start rucking his shirt up higher, pull it over his head as Marty throws it off, settles himself by Kraglin’s head and cups his jaw. 

“That’s it, Mar,” Yondu’s lifted up enough he can work the buckles of Kraglin’s pants loose, “Gonna fuck that sweet mouth of his, watch those pretty blue eyes go all wide and wet as he takes you down his throat?” 

Kraglin hiccups out a little moan at that, mouth falling open helplessly as Marty’s eyes go dark as Egean honey. 

“Think he likes that idea,” Marty rasps, and he loosens his pants enough to pull out his cock. It’s smoother than the rest of him, softer, and Kraglin lets Marty tilt his head, guide him down. 

He’s cool, tasting vaguely like salt and sun-warmed stone. Marty moves his hips in slow, shallow pulses, and it feels good to take it, feels good to get fucked. A hand is combing gently through the sweaty strands of his mohawk, rubbing his scalp, cupping his head to make Kraglin take Marty deeper.  There’s the sound of something slick, squelching, and Kraglin realizes with a shudder that it’s Yondu, working himself open. 

“Greedy thing,” Marty’s voice is fond, “don’t even need that, do you, still all wet and open from this morning.” 

Yondu hums out an affirmative, and then he’s grabbing Kraglin’s dick and slicking it up, lowering himself down tight and hot and wet. 

It’s almost too much and Kraglin _writhes,_ whining and humming around Marty’s cock until he holds Kraglin still, fucks him harder. Yondu’s lifting up, sinking down, lifting up, and sinking down until Kraglin can’t think for needing. 

“Aw fuck yeah, thassit,” Yondu slurs out, “Being such a good boy, letting us pin you down ’n have you.” 

They move like that, slow and possessive, Yondu on his cock and Marty in his mouth.  Marty comes first, thrusting in sharp, shallow movements until his fingers claw into Kraglin’s scalp, holding him still. Kraglin holds him, suckling dazedly as Yondu moves faster, braces himself on Kraglin’s shoulders, pinning him down.

“So sweet for us,” Marty’s voice is a fucked out, satisfied croon as he thumbs as the corner of Kraglin’s slack mouth “c’mon, that’s it love, make him come,” and Yondu’s contracting hard, making these dazed little clicks as Kraglin whines, ruts his hips up faster, and everything winching tighter, and it feels so stars damn fucking good–––––

 

After Kraglin lies panting and muddled on the bed. He can’t move, doesn’t want to, but he shifts weakly, not sure what the proper protocol here is exactly. Is it one of those unspoken things, should he mumble out his excuses and slip out? 

Better safe than booted out on his sorry ass, so Kraglin bites his lip, starts to lever himself up on his elbows. But he’s pushed back down to the bed with an unceremonious wheeze as Yondu shifts to thunk his head on Kraglin’s belly. Slinging a possessive arm across his hips, Yondu’s noses grumpily into Kraglin’s fuzz as he snugs himself in close.

“Sleep now,” he orders, huffily imperious. On his other side Marty chuckles drowsily, slides himself down next to Kraglin as he fishes with one hand for the blanket. 

As he pulls it over the three of them, Marty looks down at Kraglin, says,“Y'know, we want you to stay,” and something in his eyes is dark and serious, weighty like his words are meaning more than just tonight. It makes Kraglin’s lip curl up in a tiny grin as he ducks his head, says soft, “I will.” 

Now he’s laying still the room is cold, but somehow Marty’s made himself warmer, skin radiating out warmth like a heater unit. Kraglin burrows himself deeper under the blanket, worming closer into Marty’s side until he slings an arm over the pair of them, a buffer against the night and the chill vent air.

**Author's Note:**

> please to be leaving comments! <3


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